Furtive checking of his image in the windows of the shops,
he wallows in the fame of his cautions from the cops.
Asbo boy’s hoodie shields a shaven head of air as
on every quivering granny he lays his hostile stare.
The cargo he conceals in the pockets round his knees –
a cut-price can of Tennants; his dad’s Fiesta keys.
In his hors-de-combat trousers and camouflage kagoul
he haunts abandoned buildings where he spray paints “Man-U Rules”.
Graffito, drink and sniffing constitute his only hobbies
and he’s up for confrontation with community bobbies
who patrol the urban areas at councillors’ insistence,
overdressed in Day-Glo vests announcing their existence.
But they can’t cope with Asbo boy, he needs a firmer hand
-ideally, transportation to a far off hostile land.